


Dreaming Lies

by assbutt_to_uss_enterprise



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crazy Peter, First Fanfiction, Gen, but i got bored at work, he remembers his family, it kinda sucks, peter talked to the voice in his head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assbutt_to_uss_enterprise/pseuds/assbutt_to_uss_enterprise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't dream any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Lies

He doesn’t dream any more.

He used to. For years, after the fire, it was all he could do, trapped in his head day in and day out.

But after he resurrected, well, there was no denying that part of him had been left behind in that hole.

His first dreams, at least those that he recognized as dreams when his brain finally caught up with him, were filled with the smell of burning flesh, dancing flames, and the screams of his family. He doesn’t know that there were several times during these dreams that he had gone into cardiac arrest.

Those first few were disjointed, flashes of memories and nightmares, what his brain thought that night might have been like.

Then came the details.

He remembered his wife, his mate, a lovely ( _human!_ ) woman who spoke softly and filled his house with laughter and the scent of lavender and freshly baked cookies. She had evened him out, a foil to his rather abrasive nature, nurturing where he wasn’t. She’d been pregnant.

He doesn’t think about her any more. (The lavender had burned away leaving the stench of fear and scorching flesh). She was one of the first to die.

He remembers his sister, his Alpha, desperate to save her children (but she knew, she _knew_ ), her pack, feverishly hopeful that at least Laura and Derek had been spared. Screaming for help, for mercy (“They’re children! Children! Please! Please! Have _mercy_!”), only to be denied.

His brother in law, a man who, despite rocky beginnings, he had respected, sheltering his youngest daughter ( _human_ too) from the flames only to realize that she’d died from the smoke. She’d been nine. The howl of sorrow and rage. The continued cries for mercy. The heat.

He doesn’t remember what he’d done. That part never came to him. Despite remembering everything else, the first whiff of smoke, that first spark, the beads of sweat rolling down the faces of his family (sweat, or tears? It didn’t really matter now), their last words, all of that he remembered, but he doesn’t remember how he survived.

The question he had asked himself most often in the early days was why.

Then came the fantasies. He realized they were such but he was so very very tired. Laura, he thinks, he doesn’t remember clearly, had left then, gone and left him, and he could only stare at a wall, so he had started dreaming.

He spent what seemed to be countless years with his wife, their brood of children (he had named them all, the first James, like they had agreed, and later came Lachlan, William, Arianna, and the twins Quinton and Cassandra), with family game nights and school plays and college graduations. Everyone was happy. His wife was happy and if he sometimes thought she smelled different ( _like a rotting corpse_ his brain would whisper) he chalked it up to his imagination.

The dark voice in his head had always laughed at that.

His fantasies had chattered when his body had finally, finally, started to heal.

He’d been helping his youngest with math homework and the next he was back in that tiny room, staring at the blank wall.

All because he had twitched a finger.

He’d been so sad at first, desperately trying to get back to his dream world. But try as he might he could never pull it back together as it had been, the dreams mere pieces that came apart when the real world decided to make itself known, the sound of an howl’s hoot deafening and shattering.

Then had come the anger.

The rage.

Poison had filled his mind.

The dark voice grinned.

His dreams turned red again.

This time though, this time, he was laughter, he was the one who listened to the cries of mercy and took pleasure in denying them. Yes, yes, he had though, this is more like it. He wouldn’t hurt innocents, no, it was all going to be above board, yes, all those responsible for the massacre, they had innocent blood on their hands (his beautiful little wife, oh god), they all needed to pay.

_You’d be avenging them, you’d be doing the world a favor, people like that needed to be put down. Isn’t that what they claim? We hunt those that would hunt us? Well, isn’t that what they had done? Wouldn’t it then follow that you can hunt them? Oh yes, but you’re much more powerful than their little guns aren’t you? Look at that, they couldn’t even kill you trapping you and setting you on fire, could they? No, they didn’t think did they, that all you need is a little more power before ripping their throats out…_

( _Maybe it can bring them back_ , the voice lied).

_But awareness is not going to help you is it? No, no, you need strength to crush their bones and crack their ribs and rip their limbs from their bodies. You need that strength now!_

But ho-

_Laura._

At first he had balked. She was his niece, the one with a wicked sense of humor and the one that had crawled onto his lap at the tender age of three almost every night until her teens for a story from “Unca.” No, he couldn’t possibly-

_Your sister would probably like to see her, don’t you think?_

…No…his brain sometimes got confused. No, his sister would not be happy if Laura was dead.

_But she would be with the rest of family right? With her sister and brother and father and mother; wouldn’t she be happier with them?_

…No-yes-no…he couldn’t think. The voice continued to whisper.

_Someone has to take revenge, Laura is too soft, to kind (too righteous), she must miss her family, send her to them, spare her the heartache of finding out about Derek._

The voice hated Derek. It whispered things to him about the Argent girl, about betrayal, words that he denied because his nephew was his favorite, smart and with a razor sharp tongue, but every night it would whisper:

_His fault._

No, the voice decided, he doesn’t get rest, he gets the torment of living with his crime (just like me, he though, just like me).

And maybe, maybe it would be better to send Laura away. For her own good of course, she must be so sad without her family. His sister was bound to be missing her eldest. He’d take care of her, he’d do his duty by her and his family, but she could rest now, she deserved the rest.

_The poor girl._

Later, when he had done it, he dreamed of her again. Tiny Laura, hair in pigtails, running after her father in the woods. Laughter rang out (it drowned out her screams). He dreamt about his sister too, but that one he couldn’t remember clearly.

(“ ~~What have you done Peter?~~ _Well done brother, thank you for bringing me my baby girl!_ ~~How could you! She’d your blood~~! _I’m so happy to have my family together_. ~~Stop this Peter, stop this now~~!”)

When he turned the boy ( _useless boy_ ) and killed the others, he dreamt of different things. Sometimes it was his sister, sometimes Laura, grown Laura would also come, most often it was his wife, but they were more than often the same.

(“ ~~Peter! Peter! You’ve got to stop! Please~~! I love you! ~~I don’t want to lose you _!_~~ _Well done!_ ~~Stop it! Your soul Peter, you soul!~~ _Avenge our deaths!_ ”)

Sometimes, the dialogue of these dreams got messed up in his head, the voice always cleared it up for him, and the voice was always right.

_Yes, yes, always right._

So when his nephew slashed his throat with a triumphant cry, and the voice whispered that Peter should sleep now, well he listened.

He didn’t dream now.

_He no longer had to lie to Peter._

**Author's Note:**

> My most sincere apologies. I know it's crap.


End file.
